


but don't distract me

by celestixl



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Henry Cheng/Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, RomCom AU, adam has his shit together (tm), but all i did was take the basic premise and run with it, technically this is a no strings attached au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-01-25 03:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12522288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestixl/pseuds/celestixl
Summary: Adam Parrish is too busy juggling three roommates, a freshly started residency at Boston Children's Hospital, and the ridiculousness of adult life to even think about dedicating time to a relationship. Ronan Lynch is desperate for a change of pace, so leaving Henrietta behind to move in with an old high school friend in Boston is exactly what he needs.When the undeniable chemistry between the two of them gives way to... something, neither of them knows quite what they signed up for.But it seems to be working out ok, right?





	1. east of eden

**Author's Note:**

> title from distraction by kehlani, which is basically my theme song for this whole thing, so there's that 
> 
> shoutout to la, loml, for beta reading and writing 90% of the summary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a house full of coffee-addicted maybe-adults, gratuitous use of the phrase “what the fuck,” and an unexpected reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from east of eden by zella day

When Adam walks into the living room, he’s expecting, arguably, anything but this.  _ This _ being Ronan Lynch passed out on their couch with his shoes still on, sunlight casting a warm glow on his face and arm where it’s flung over his eyes, the angles of his face pronounced and his dark skin shining almost golden in the light. 

 

Adam turns around in the kitchen and makes himself a coffee, waiting the full three minutes until the pot’s brewed and he actually has a cup before turning around again, just to make sure this isn’t some weird sort of sleep deprivation-induced hallucination. 

 

“What the fuck,” he says quietly and without emotion. 

 

“He showed up last night at like midnight,” Noah says from the doorway to the kitchen, and makes grabby hands towards the coffee. Adam passes him the entire pot and no mug. “Apparently he’s moving into town and is going to be Gansey’s new roommate, since that dick he was splitting rent with bailed on him, but Gansey’s out of town till this evening, which apparently Gansey never told Ronan, because apparently they have communication issues, so apparently Ronan decided to get semi-sloshed on his first night in a new city and then crash at the only other house he knew. Apparently.” 

 

“That’s a lot of apparently’s,” Adam remarks mildly, ignoring how Noah is now drinking coffee directly from the pot instead of bothering to walk the five steps needed to get a mug. “Do you have any definitely’s?” 

 

Noah shrugs. “What I told you is all I got from him when I let him in.” 

 

“What the fuck,” a louder voice comes from behind Noah, and then Blue is pushing her way into the kitchen. “What’s Ronan fucking Lynch doing on our couch. With his shoes still on. Does that asshat have no respect for the cleanliness of our furnishings.” 

 

“You spilt soup on it last week and then said ‘ _ oh, it’s fine, worse has happened on this couch _ ,’ Blue,” Noah reminds her, sipping at his coffee. 

 

“Yeah, but it’s only ok if I disrespect our furnishings, not if someone else does.” She turns away from the cabinet holding a chipped mug with Darth Vader printed on its side, glares at the coffee machine -- which is missing the actual coffee and coffee pot -- for a solid fifteen seconds, then turns to glare at Noah until he hands the coffee pot over. 

 

“Anyways,” Adam continues, “ _ apparently _ he’s moving into town and is staying with Gansey, but Gansey forgot to mention he was out of town for the past two nights, so he showed up here, drunk, and fell asleep on our couch.” 

 

“What the fuck,” echoes from the other doorway to the living room, across the room and behind the couch, and Adam is getting kind of tired of this refrain. Henry’s peering curiously over the couch at Ronan like he’s an extraterrestrial that somehow landed in their living room. 

 

Blue takes charge on this one. “Gansey and Lynch are idiots.” 

 

“Yeah, could I have some new information to explain the current situation, rather than a reiteration of facts,” Henry snarks back. 

 

“Ronan’s moving in with Gansey, Gansey forgot to tell Ronan he was out of town right now, Ronan decided to move yesterday, then got drunk and passed out here.” 

 

“Apparently,” Noah adds, chipper. 

 

Adam sighs, and gets out his cereal, but he can’t forget the man currently asleep on his sofa. 

 

He tries not to be too obvious in his curiosity. 

 

\---

 

Five minutes later, Henry is bored by the lack of anything actually happening, and so chucks a pillow at Ronan’s head. 

 

Ronan sits bolt upright in about two seconds, muttering a string of curses as he blinks blearily at the room, eyes moving from where Henry’s standing, throwing arm still extended basketball-style, to Noah perched on a bar stool, to Blue sitting on the kitchen counter, short legs dangling a solid two or so feet off the floor, and finally, eyes making their way to where Adam is standing behind the counter, empty bowl of cereal in hand. 

 

“Morning, sunshine,” Henry says, voice mischievous, and he plops down onto the couch beside Ronan. “Thanks for last night.” 

 

“What the fuck,” Ronan replies, and Adam thinks maybe they all need to learn some new phrases. 

 

The moment stretches, and Adam can actually, without looking, feel Blue trying her hardest to contain her laughter. 

 

Henry makes a suggestive face at Ronan. 

 

The look on Ronan’s face isn’t quite describable, but it sits somewhere between confusion, befuddlement, and horror. “Are you shitting me? Even drunk, I wouldn’t stoop so low.”

 

“Last night proves different,” Henry challenges. 

 

Adam takes pity. 

 

“Calm down, you didn’t sleep with anyone in this house.” 

 

“Stop being such a killjoy, Adam,” Henry sighs. 

 

Ronan’s self-satisfied look at being correct turns into something more thoughtful as his gaze turns towards Adam, but snaps back into neutral territory as Blue bursts into howls of laughter. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I missed you, just a tiny bit. If only for the added entertainment.” 

 

“Unfortunate, then, that I can’t say the same for you, maggot,” Ronan grouches back, and suddenly it’s as if they never left. Like they’re all back in high school, those two years they all knew each other, all of them young and naive and full of shit, thinking they could take on the world together. 

 

But distance does kill. A few too many years, a few too many miles. Different life goals, different ways of getting there. And luck -- luck must really have had nothing better to do, for them to have all ended up in Boston one way or another, for fate to have pulled all their lives back together. Like a rubber band being stretched and stretched until it can’t go any further, but instead of snapping and all of them ricocheting even further, an inescapable, unseen pressure that pulled them back together. 

 

Adam watches Ronan pull a hand over his eyes and face, and tries not to think about luck or fate or any of that shit that Blue believes in but he couldn’t give less of a fuck about. “Coffee?” he offers. 

 

“Don’t drink it,” is Ronan’s short reply. Blue is staring at him like he just committed murder. 

 

“Don’t...drink it… Never mind, I didn’t miss you a single goddamn ounce, actually; you can go back whence you came, demon,” she says, and walks out to get ready to open shop. 

 

Ronan is staring after her with a bemused expression, and Adam thinks he might have been lying earlier. 

 

“Is there a fridge-free bathroom in this place I could use?” 

  
  
  


Adam rolls his eyes, but it’s a valid point. Gansey had had a pretty odd place back in Henrietta. He stands, gestures at Ronan to follow him, and starts down the hall, mug of coffee in hand. Within a few seconds, Ronan is just behind him. 

 

It’s weird, Ronan being back so suddenly, without warning. There’s simultaneously the feeling of nothing ever having changed at all, but also that off-kilter feeling of being face to face with someone you thought you knew but are realizing you don’t quite know anything about. A click, like the world has been slightly out of focus this entire time and all it needed was for Ronan to be back, to complete the picture that surrounds Adam. But also the disorienting feeling of the ground being tilted half a degree and the unsettling need to find his footing, to find his balance again. It’s like learning to live without the hearing of his left ear, except now he has to readjust to  _ having _ something instead of losing it. Him. Losing him. 

 

He’d already lost Ronan once, lost all of them, in fact -- Blue and Noah and Gansey and Henry -- and somehow they were all here again. 

 

Shaking off his buzzing thoughts, Adam pushes open the door to his room. 

 

“No luggage?” he asks, and points towards the bathroom that connects his and Noah’s rooms, before turning to get ready himself. He and Henry have to leave in ten minutes to make it to the hospital on time, and Adam’s never been late, nor is he planning to start now. 

 

“Didn’t have much. Left it in my car once I learned Gansey wasn’t actually in town.” 

 

“How’d that even happen?” Adam is laughing slightly, as the bathroom door closes and he starts pulling off his pyjamas while Ronan’s not in the room. 

 

“The fuckass forgot to write the date I was arriving into his agenda or whatever,” Ronan scoffs, “and so forgot I was moving in today.” 

 

“Why are you actually here, anyways. In Boston,” Adam asks over the sound of running water, trading pyjama pants for normal ones. 

 

“What is this, twenty questions?” Ronan’s derisive reply is nearly drowned out by the tap. 

 

The water cuts off, but Ronan doesn’t reveal anything else for a long moment. Adam hears the door open behind him as he’s pulling his shirt, and what sounds like Ronan choking a little. He turns, one eyebrow arched upward in a questioning gaze, but Ronan just presses his lips together in a thin line. 

 

“Needed a change of pace,” is the only answer he offers up. 

 

“Showing up drunk at your high school friends’ flat at 1 am in order to pass out on their couch is a ‘change of pace’ then?” 

 

“Be glad I’m here to turn your boring life into something a little more interesting,” he replies flippantly. “Look at you four, all domestic and shit.” 

 

There’s something in Ronan’s voice that Adam can’t quite place, but he brushes it off. 

 

“Least we have a flat.” 

 

“Oh, fuck you, my night of homelessness is entirely Dick’s fault.” 

 

Adam just smirks at him. “So the drinking, the texting Noah at midnight, the passing out on our couch -- all filed under Gansey’s name?” 

 

“I’ve decided to blame him for everything from now on.” 

 

“Harsh,” Adam laughs, pulls on a light coat, and starts buttoning it. He doesn’t miss the way Ronan’s gaze drops to his hands, before flickering up to his mouth, then eyes again. Interesting. “I’ve got to leave for work with Henry, but Noah doesn’t take over for Blue till noon so if you still need any help figuring out the city or whatever, I’m sure he can help.” 

 

Ronan makes a dismissive sound. “I’m not a child; I’ll find my way.” 

 

There’s something reckless running through Adam’s veins, suddenly, somehow, and he drops his eyes, just between the limits of curiosity and intentionality, to run up and down Ronan’s body. “I’d show you around myself, but…” He shrugs, testing some limit he doesn’t know if he can define. “Work calls, and all.” 

 

“Appreciate the concern,” Ronan replies drily, and follows him out the door. 

 

\--- 

 

Adam is walking down one of the third floor corridors, flipping through the pile of charts he’s holding,  _ peacefully and alone _ , when suddenly an arm is thrown over his shoulder and Henry’s face is in his personal space, grinning brightly. 

 

“Sooooo…” he draws out while Adam resignedly flips one of the folders shut. “What’d you think of Lynch turning up at our doorstep.” 

 

“I thought absolutely nothing,” Adam replies, expressionless. 

 

“Liar,” is Henry’s gleeful answer. “I swear you didn’t look at me, Blue, or Noah for more than three minutes total the entire time he was here. Besides, we had eyes back in high school.” 

 

“And you still have eyes now, too,” is Adam’s dry answer, and he unsuccessfully tries to lose Henry by quickening his pace. 

 

“You know what the fuck I mean.” 

 

“I don’t know ‘what the fuck you mean,’” Adam echoes back. 

 

“Why do you insist on being dense.” 

 

Adam thinks back to the magna cum laude on his diploma, but doesn’t say anything. 

 

“I know you’re thinking about your diploma, but book smarts doesn’t mean relationship smarts,” Henry says, his voice gaining that know-it-all tone that Adam is realizing is much less funny when it’s directed at him instead of Blue. 

 

“No one said a single thing about relationships.”

 

“ _ I _ said a thing about relationships.” 

 

“As a complete non sequitur.” 

 

“Stop sounding smart but acting dense.” 

 

“Please, explain, since you seem to have all the answers.” 

 

Henry rolls his eyes. “You two were dancing around each other for like 75% of the time we all knew each other in high school. Now he’s back in your life, and apparently distance  _ does _ make the heart grow fonder or whatever, because I  _ have eyes _ and I saw the look he gave you after you said he didn’t sleep with anyone in our flat. Besides I’m willing to bet twenty that you two were lowkey flirting back in your room before we left.”

 

“First off, I didn’t even know I was bi till college, and second, who the fuck says ‘lowkey’ anymore.” 

 

“One, irrelevant; two, I do, bitch.” 

 

It’s Adam’s turn to roll his eyes at Henry’s offended tone. They’re at the office Adam was headed to, now, so he drops the files onto the desk with a quick thanks to the lab tech, then pulls Henry out of the way a little. 

 

“Listen, Henry, whatever you think it is I think about Lynch, you’re probably wrong. If there’s one thing I don’t need right now, it’s any sort of relationship. We just started our residency, for fuck’s sake, I can’t afford to get distracted when I’m so close to what I’ve been working towards for years now. I don’t have time for all the,” he waves a hand vaguely, “time and effort and emotional baggage of being involved with someone romantically. I’m glad he’s back; it’s weird, but in a good way, that we’re all back in the same city again. But you can drop this line of questioning; it’s not going to get you anywhere.” 

 

“At least admit he’s gotten hotter since high school.” 

 

Adam shrugs. “I never said anything to the contrary, and I won’t deny it now.” 

 

“That was easier than expected,” Henry laughs, clapping him on the shoulder, before continuing down the hall. “Have some labs to finish, I’ll see you later.” 

 

Adam watches him go, silent and still for a moment as nurses and doctors and patients rush around him, flow and circle and carry on with their lives. 

 

Henry had been right on that last account, at least. Lynch had definitely gotten hotter, and Adam had definitely noticed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: i know nothing about boston i've been there one (1) time and only for like 3 days so i'm trusting google on this one
> 
> sooo this is my first like. longer thing and i'm really excited about writing it but i'm also really bad at staying on track with this sort of thing. i can't promise consistent updates -- uni will take precedence -- but i'll try my best. it's looking to come out at around 7 chapters, but again, we'll see.


	2. your drunken words were honest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> old friends, new home, new city, new bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from underdog by banks 
> 
> again shoutout to la, loml, for beta reading and being general moral support

Although he’d told Adam he wouldn’t need Noah’s help to find his way to Gansey’s, when Noah offers to go with him, Ronan doesn’t turn him down. Being with Noah is simple, easy. A fall back into a friendship without complications or other depths. 

 

The traffic’s at a standstill, Ronan tapping his fingers angrily against the steering wheel. He misses the emptiness of backcountry roads right about now. 

 

“Glaring isn’t going to make the traffic go any faster,” Noah says after a particularly abrupt stop has Ronan spitting a few choice words at the car in front of him. 

 

“I can damn well try.” 

 

“You’ll have to get used to it, you know. The people, the city.” Noah’s remarkably perceptive when he wants to be. Ronan just shrugs in response, and tries not to think too hard about having to acclimate the crush of people, to this never-ending flow of strangers upon strangers pressing in at all sides. 

 

It’s a good thing he didn’t decide to move to New York. God forbid. 

 

They finally make it to Gansey’s neighborhood, and Noah directs him to a small parking lot a few streets down that’s always empty. When Ronan grabs his one duffel bag from the trunk of the car, Noah gives it a funny look, but doesn’t ask any questions; instead he grins brightly and drags Ronan to a small ice cream shop around the corner, tucked between brownstones. For all that he complains, loudly, it’s not like Ronan has anywhere pressing to be, and so he stands with Noah and fluctuates between watching the few people that trickle in and listening to Noah chat about Boston, about his and Blue’s shop, about anything and everything. 

 

Gansey’s apartment building is three blocks down, and by the time they arrive, Noah’s ice cream is long gone and Ronan is pretty much entirely caught up on every bit of gossip. But Noah doesn’t pry, doesn’t ask too many personal questions, and for that, Ronan is grateful in a way he doesn’t know how to put into words. So he doesn’t say anything, but as they turn the corner to stop at the door of Gansey’s building, he slings an arm over Noah’s shoulders for a short second, an odd sort of halfway hug that Noah responds brightly to with a beaming grin. 

 

This time when Ronan presses the buzzer to ring to Gansey’s apartment, Gansey actually answers. Noah shouts “Gansey!” into the intercom, and Ronan laughs at Gansey’s slightly put-off answer of “ _ Jesus _ , that was loud.” The door to the building buzzes open, and they step into the quiet hallway and make their way to the third floor. 

 

\---

 

When Ronan had tried the buzzer last night, he’d been greeted with only silence. He’d tried a grand total of six more times before giving up, figuring that if that incessant ringing hadn’t gotten Gansey to the door, it meant Gansey was either somewhere else or dead. 

 

Fishing his phone from his pocket, Ronan opened Gansey’s contact and hit call. For a long moment, only the ringtone echoed back to him, and then Gansey picked up with a way too chipper “Ronan! Hey!” 

 

“Good to hear you aren’t dead, Dick, but how come you can pick up the phone but not answer the door?” 

 

“...Answer the door?” was Gansey’s confused answer, and that was probably the moment Ronan realized Gansey wouldn’t be answering the door, not tonight. “Shit, you’re coming today, I completely forgot. I’m out of town. I’m sorry; I hadn’t even registered that it was today...” 

 

Gansey sounded so genuinely distressed that Ronan just breathed out a heavy sigh and said, “Whatever. I’ll figure it out. Text me Noah’s address,” even though what he really wanted to do was punch a wall. It was such a little thing, Gansey not being here, something he could easily work past, but after everything that had happened, every shitty little detail from the most inconsequential to the most glaring, this was the penny that tipped the scales. His ever-present Damocles’ sword of anger and frustration and sadness came crashing down, and for a moment, he just stood, leaning against the cool brick of the building’s entryway, trying to catch his breath. 

 

Gansey was still apologizing in his ear, and through gritted teeth Ronan managed to stop him mid-sentence. 

 

“Just text me Noah’s address, Dick,” he repeated, “I’ll see you when you get back,” and hung up. 

 

Ten minutes later, he was somewhat aggressively parallel parking on a side street somewhere between downtown and Noah’s place. 

 

He stepped out onto the sidewalk and glared around the street as though it personally offended him, then turned on his heel. The chilled night air brushed his cheeks, the streetlights and car headlights throwing shadows across his face as he strode out into the city. There had to be some shitty hole in the wall bar or pub somewhere here; he wasn’t ready to see Noah yet, to see Blue or Henry or Adam -- fuck, Adam would be there -- yet. They could wait an hour till he drowned at least a few of these unwanted feelings in alcohol. 

 

\---

 

Gansey’s apartment is just as eclectic as his place was back in high school, but in a way that is so completely  _ Gansey _ that Ronan isn’t at all surprised. The furniture is an assortment of old wood and mismatched prints of sober hues, and books are scattered everywhere. Spread across tables, peeking out from beneath couches, supporting plant pots. Greenery blossoms across the room, and Ronan spots a few mint plants tucked throughout, but he’s a little impressed that Gansey’s been able to keep so many plants alive. Gansey lets them in with a blinding smile, and once the door is closed behind them, pulls Ronan into a tight hug. 

 

Ronan lets it happen half because he wasn’t expecting it, and half because for once, he’s tired of having to hold himself up. But after a few moments, he pulls back to smirk at Gansey. 

 

“Missed me?” 

 

Gansey laughs good-naturedly, replies, “Not a single bit,” but they both know he’s lying. Gansey doesn’t ask Ronan the same, and maybe that’s because he can already see it in his eyes, already feel it in the way Ronan’s shoulders have unwinded, the way they’ve fallen back into a rhythm that could have been forgotten after all these years, but didn’t seem to have been unlearned, not yet. 

 

\---

 

Of all the places Ronan expects to be spending his Friday morning, the fucking farmers market is not one of them. But Gansey had, without preamble, dropped a messily scribbled shopping list, complete with a tacked on address at the top, into Ronan’s hands, and told him to go before 1 on Friday.

 

“I’d go myself,” he’d said, “but I have a lecture. And besides, you need to learn the city.” 

 

And so now Ronan’s standing in the middle of a farmers market (he’d been expecting a normal supermarket, but whatever) at ten in the morning, with two canvas shopping bags and a crumpled list he could barely read. He’s a little bit rooted to the spot, the scene a little too familiar to him after spending too many early mornings helping at the much smaller Henrietta version of this. It’s disconcerting, to be standing on the other side of that invisible line. 

 

Ronan knows Gansey means well, but he doesn’t know if he one hundred percent appreciates the way he pushes sometimes, how eager he is for Ronan to like Boston. It’s not like Ronan’s planning to stay -- what he’d told Adam, that this was a needed change of pace, was the truth, after all. A change of pace, a distancing from Henrietta, a space to breathe again. And then he would go back, when he felt ready. 

 

Sighing, he turns his attention back to the illegible list and tries to decipher what type of cheese it is that Gansey is asking for. 

 

Thirty minutes later, he has Gansey’s cheese and all the items from the list, plus a few more unnecessary items that were impulse-bought, tucked into the canvas bags. Ronan is eying the mushrooms from one stand when a slight touch at the small of his back makes him turn around violently, guard immediately up and eyes wary. 

 

But it’s Parrish who stands next to him, a slight, crooked smile on his face as he retracts his hand. 

 

“Didn’t mean to startle you. I just can’t believe you’re at a farmer’s market. Feels rather… Uncharacteristically domestic of you.” 

 

Ronan scowls at Adam for a beat, then flippantly turns away. “You don’t know shit about me, Parrish.” 

 

He can see Adam shrug out of the corner of his eye. “We should fix that,” Adam says offhandedly, casually, and when Ronan looks back at him, Adam’s gaze is directed ahead. 

 

Ronan echoes Adam’s shrug. “Your mistake,” he replies, and even though he doesn’t lie -- it’s a mistake, getting to know Ronan Lynch, wild, untamed, unbalanced thing that he is -- there’s a smile that threatens to break onto his face. 

 

He scowls instead. 

 

“What are you doing here, anyways? Don’t you have work? Besides, seems a bit too hipstery for your tastes.” And it does -- the backcountry feel, somehow stuck in the middle of a city, of the farmers market is exactly what Adam had run from -- that backcountry Virginia thrum in the air, the locals mixing with ease and fluidity. 

 

“I have off today, for once.” He pauses, considering. “Seems you know me better than I know you,” Adam replies, but Ronan knows it isn’t true. Adam has always felt like something untouchable -- unknowable and unknown, drifting higher than the rest of them, eyes glued to a goal no one else could even see. Reaching higher and higher and higher until they were left behind. Same in high school, same now. Adam seems a step ahead of Ronan in all ways, then, now. Always running ahead, thinking ahead, moving ahead so fast that it’s a wonder Ronan’s even still in his radius at all. 

 

“I just picked up an order for Blue and Noah,” Adam finally acquiesces. Ronan watches as Adam’s fingers drum an irregular rhythm onto the side of his thigh. “If you’re not busy, you should join me. See the shop.” 

 

“Oh, I don’t know, I’ll have to check if my schedule’s clear, make sure today isn’t too hectic,” Ronan drawls, deadpan. 

 

Adam grins in response, and Ronan can’t help but notice how much freer he is with his smiles than he was in high school. They seem to slip out of Adam unnoticed, unbothered: not the polite Aglionby smile and not the charming Southern smile and not the sharp self-deprecating not quite smile, but something real and genuine in the way it slips onto Adam’s face and is gone again just as quickly. 

 

Confidence suited Adam Parrish well. 

 

“Asshole,” Adam replies. “We can take your groceries back to Gansey’s-- your place, and then go to Ley Line.”

 

Another beat of quiet, the indistinct chatter of the people milling around them filling the air, and Ronan shrugs. “Sure, fuck if I have anything better to do.” 

 

\---

 

Ley Line is quite possibly the most bizarre shop Ronan has ever set foot in. It’s also very clearly Blue and Noah’s -- somehow, it echoes the spark in their eyes, the tilt of their voices. The air plants in colorful glass orbs hanging from the ceiling reminds Ronan of Blue’s eclectic colors. The row of herbs lined against the shopfront windows carry labels with Noah’s distinct handwriting, and instead of scientific names they carry names. 

 

Adam leads the way in, ducking beneath one of the many hanging plants with practiced ease. 

 

“Honey, I’m home,” he calls out, and a bang answers from somewhere towards the back of the shop. 

 

“Why the fuck are we paying rent on the apartment then,” Blue answers from behind a stack of boxes, all but the very tops of her two moon buns obscured. Another thud as Blue unceremoniously dumps the boxes onto the ground behind the counter, and then she turns and sees Ronan standing there. “Ugh, why’d you bring him,” she says, nose wrinkled, but her eyes are bright, so Ronan just flips her off. 

 

“What the fuck do you even sell here?” Ronan asks, eyes skimming the shop. There are plants everywhere, and the shelves are covered in little containers and pouches that seem to be holding herbs and ointments and more that Ronan isn’t sure what to call. 

 

Noah is the one who replies, from behind him. “Fuck if I know. The hipsters pay good money for it though.” 

 

Ronan answers with a sharp laugh. The door opens, a bell above it jingling, and Noah bounds off to attend to the customer while Adam pulls out the order and starts talking to Blue. With no one focused on him anymore, Ronan wanders deeper into the maze of the store, curiosity leading his feet. It feels a bit like how he remembers 300 Fox Way, with that electric eclecticism, colors popping and the thrum of something more running through his veins. Blue’s family was always a little odd; Ronan never decided if they were actually psychic or not. But Ley Line has that same feeling -- straddling the boundary between eccentric and unbelievable. He reaches the back of the store, face to face with a wall of old-looking books, and with nothing better to do, starts rifling through them. One with designs of plants gracing the cover captures his attention, so he takes it and stretches out on the floor for lack of anywhere better to sit, back propped up lazily against the bookshelf, knee bent. 

 

It’s quite a few minutes later -- time feels unreal here -- that a shadow stretches itself over the book and his face, and Ronan looks up to meet Adam’s gaze. 

 

“Thought you’d gotten bored and left,” Adam tells him mildly, and Ronan simply shrugs. 

 

“It’s weirdly calming in here.” 

 

Adam slides the ground opposite of Ronan, mirroring his pose, and there’s agreement in the easy stance of his shoulders, the tilt of his head. “I always feel kind of suspended in time here. Don’t have to…” Adam trails off, then shrugs. Ronan wants to know what he doesn’t have to do, but doesn’t ask. Instead, his eyes trace the lines of Adam’s face, the curve of his lips, and in the half-light of the back of the shop, it feels less illicit somehow, but he still tears his eyes away when Adam looks back at him. “Feels liminal,” he finally finishes. 

 

Ronan agrees, but he simply replies, “Speak English, asshole.” Adam rolls his eyes. 

 

Footsteps echo around the corner of the bookshelf, and then Blue is adding herself to the line of bodies occupying the floor. “Ronan!” she exclaims, stretching her short legs until her heels hit the opposite bookshelf. “Want to buy that book?” 

 

He scoffs. “No thanks, I already graduated, what use do I have for books?” 

 

“Gansey’s sofa is missing a leg on the left side; you could use it to prop that up so it stops wiggling every time someone sits down.” 

 

“Not a bad idea, maggot,” Ronan concedes. 

 

Somehow, he ends up spending the entire day at Ley Line, caught in conversation with either Blue or Noah or Adam. Adam, too, stays the whole day, and it seems to be something regular for his days off. Both Gansey and Henry show up in the late afternoon, Henry entering with a dramatic flourish, pulling Gansey in behind him with a clasped hand. 

 

They loiter on the couches situated in the center of the shop as Noah and Blue usher out the last of the customers and close up, lights ticking off one by one and throwing shadows across the floor and their faces. They end up at a bar two blocks away, the six of them squeezed into a booth, Adam’s thigh pressed against his, shoulder to shoulder. Blue is across from him, and she keeps stealing food from Gansey’s plate, while Gansey steals sips across the table from Henry’s beer. Noah keeps humming some Blink-182 song, and at some point leaves and comes back with another round, pulling his drink into the air. 

 

“Just wanted to say that I can’t believe we’re all here -- shoutout to Ronan for finally catching up with the rest of us.” 

 

“Sit the fuck down,” Ronan replies, but his grin is sharp, and it feels good to be back, to have these faces smiling back at him, the comfort of sinking back into friendships that feel as old as dirt, that are like basic instinct, to have Blue aiming kicks at his shins when he steals a fry from her plate and to have Adam’s shoulder bumping into his as he raises his glass to his lips. 

 

As the bar fills up, their voices raise, they have a few drinks too many, urged by the air of giddiness, of happiness, of comfort of all of them being back together. The alcohol seeps into their bloodstreams, loosens their muscles, and Ronan watches as Gansey loops a casual arm around Blue’s shoulders and she leans into him, feels Adam’s leg press into his from thigh to ankle. 

 

He doesn’t look at Adam, doesn’t dare to. 

 

The evening stretches, turns into night. Ronan takes another drink, can’t help but glance over. Adam is looking back at him. He wonders when Adam let himself drink -- he’s had much less than anyone else at the table, but there’s control in every action, every decision. 

 

Henrietta feels like a distant dream. 

 

\---

 

It’s late, past midnight, when they tumble lazily and loose-limbed into the street, cheeks warm with alcohol and bodies chilled by the sudden bite of the cold wind outside. Boston thrums around them, groups of people mill in the street, lights spilling out of the doorways of bars and restaurants. Gansey grabs Adam’s elbow and pulls him to the side, head bent close, and Ronan can see Adam nod. Adam swerves close to Ronan again. 

 

“Gansey’s going to spending the night at our apartment, so I hope you don’t mind if I steal your couch.” 

 

Ronan’s eyes narrow in the direction of where Henry’s leaning into Gansey, off kilter, and Gansey and Blue’s hands are clasped. “Sure, whatever. And Noah?” 

 

“He’s going to his girlfriend’s. They’re cute; you’ll meet her at some point. I think she’s good for him, since his ex was a fucking asshole. I couldn’t stand that guy.” Ronan has the feeling Adam would not be sharing quite this much information if he were entirely sober, but he also doesn’t think Adam would share it, sober or not, if Noah didn’t want him to. Noah’s hugging everyone -- he pulls Ronan into one for a few seconds longer, a last silent ‘welcome back,’ before he’s waving at them while disappearing down a side street. Gansey, Henry, and Blue go next, Blue leaving him with a hard but friendly punch in the shoulder, and then it’s just Ronan and Adam. 

 

There’s an aura of absolute calm and quiet hanging in the air, wrapping around Ronan, and Ronan realizes with a start that this is probably the most comfortable, the most at home, that he’s felt in… a long time. There’s something about the way Boston breathes at 1 AM that feels like the breath of the rolling Appalachian hills, the wind whispering through the forest. That same sense of being suspended mid-moment.

 

Adam is quiet by his side, chin tucked adorably into the curve of his scarf, hands shoved deep in his pockets to keep them away from the bitingly cold air. It smells of snow, Ronan thinks to himself, it feels like the sort of night that you wake up from to find the world coated in pure white. The streetlamps cast an orange glow over everything, both their breaths fogging the air with muted colors. 

 

Ronan’s still definitely not sober, and he’s pretty sure Adam isn’t either, but the casual way Adam swerves a little closer, bumps his shoulder into Ronan’s, feels loaded with meaning in these post-midnight shadows. 

 

“Gansey and Blue and Henry…” Ronan starts, but trails off. Adam shrugs. 

 

“It’s something. But it’s not? I don’t know, really; they’re just doing their own thing and it works for them. They’re happy, and that’s enough for me.” 

 

Ronan wants to ask if Adam is happy, but he hasn’t been back long enough to start dropping shit like that. Instead, he blows a breath out into the cold, watches it curl in a translucent cloud before disappearing. “It makes sense, somehow.” 

 

He can’t help the words that slip out next. He tells himself it’s the alcohol. 

 

“And you?” 

 

Adam scoffs. “No. I don’t have time for relationships. I’m doing my residency; I’m working ridiculous hours. It wouldn’t be fair on me or the other person. A night here and there is the most I can give. It just doesn’t work otherwise.” 

 

They’re at Gansey and Ronan’s building now; Ronan let them in and the climb the stairs in silence, let themselves into the flat. 

 

“I’ll find you some blankets and shit,” Ronan says, but then Adam is standing in front of him and he can’t move, can’t think past the green in Adam’s eyes or the curve of his lips. And then Adam’s hand is on his jaw, his face is mere centimeters away. 

 

“If you want me to stop, we can pretend I never said anything,” Adam breathes against his lips, hovering. Ronan is frozen -- now that he’s staring at Adam head on, he can’t deny that it’d been there in the back of his head the whole time, that want to kiss him, to run his hand down his thigh as he sat beside him at the bar, nonchalant and cool and unbothered, while Ronan struggled to think straight. 

 

Adam starts to pull back, shaking his head, his lips shaping an apology, but then Ronan’s hand is on the back of his neck pulling him back, and they’re kissing. Adam’s hands are sliding across his jacket, and before he can register anything, before his brain catches up, they’ve both divested themselves of scarves and outer jackets. Ronan’s fingers are carding through Adam’s hair, and when he pulls lightly, Adam gasps into his mouth. Ronan takes full advantage of that opportunity. Adam’s hands are still cold, borderline freezing as they run under his shirt and across the planes of his stomach, and he shivers, the cold biting against his overheated skin. He pulls his lips from Adam’s to run them down his jaw and throat, feels Adam’s breath hitch beneath him, and then Adam is pushing him backwards towards Ronan’s bedroom. 

 

Ronan lets it happens, lets himself be manhandled backwards until the back of his knees hit his bed and he tumbles back, Adam suspended above him, arms bracketing Ronan’s head. They stare at each other a long moment, and Adam’s words come echoing back at him. 

 

_ A night here and there is the most I can give _ . 

 

But Ronan feels heady with this feeling, with Adam’s hands divesting him of his shirt, running across his shoulders and down his chest. He feels selfish, with Adam’s lips at the base of his throat, running across his collarbone. He feels that one night is okay, it’s not like this thing between them is more than friendship with an undercurrent of physical attraction, right? Ronan Lynch didn’t do casual relationships, but that’s not what this is -- not really. They just need to… resolve what has been unresolved for so long, that leftover tension from high school. That’s all. And besides, he can’t really think when Adam’s mouth captures his like that, when his hands are ghosting their way down his body like that. 

 

_ It just doesn’t work otherwise. _

 

Adam bites gently at the curve of his shoulder where it turns into his neck, and all of Ronan’s more rational thoughts are just. Gone. And then Adam pauses, fingers tapping at Ronan’s shoulder. 

 

“Turn around.” 

 

Ronan turns -- what else could he do, with Adam looking down at him with that heat in his eyes. He can feel Adam’s fingers trailing down the lines of his tattoo, following the curve of the black lines. From the corner of his eyes, over his shoulder, he can see Adam studying it. 

 

“It’s beautiful. Who designed it?” 

 

Ronan half shrugs, as much as he can when lying like this, but there’s another type of warmth now curling in his stomach, in his chest. “I did.” 

 

Adam hums, and Ronan’s not quite sure what that means, but then his fingers are replaced with lips pressing into his shoulder blades, and he thinks he understands again. 

 

In a few moments, he can’t stand it anymore, and Ronan turns awkwardly, props himself up and reaches to kiss Adam, openmouthed and overheated, and they’re both falling back into the bed together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again updates are gonna be irregular bc uni i'm sorry in advance,, 
> 
> ur ch 1 comments were so nice i hope this didn't disappoint ;-;


	3. falling together, arms 'round each other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Game night, late nights, and a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from i know you by craig david ft. bastille
> 
> sorry for disappearing on y’all i kinda had a few too many breakdowns during my finals to have time for this! if the next updates also take forever,, know i’m dying. i’ve requested additional courses this upcoming semester :)) as always, huge thanks to la for always being there for me.

The early morning light is just barely too bright for Adam’s slightly hungover state, as he blinks awake slowly, consciousness seeping back into his mind and limbs. This— this isn’t the right room, and for a second he can’t remember where he is, until last night floods back into his system. 

 

Well. 

 

He tilts his head, looks to the side: Ronan is stretched out beside him on his side, face half buried into the pillow. The contrast feels like a painting — stark white sheets, dark skin, and darker lines of ink barely visible over his shoulder. The sharp, fine angles of his face are softer, more relaxed when he’s sleeping, less the Ronan Lynch with smiles like bared teeth and eyes that spark into wildfires, and more a Ronan that is barely visible but lingering beneath the surface — the Ronan that stretched out on the worn wood floor of Ley Line with a book on flower anatomy in his hands, the Ronan that went to farmer’s markets because Gansey had asked him to, the Ronan that had trailed fingers over Adam’s sides as though he were handling glass, so unlike the hands that have touched Adam before. 

 

At a slight movement from Adam, Ronan shifts, head turning to peer down at Adam lying beside him. The tattoo on his back ripples with the movement of his muscles, black lines almost alive. 

 

“Good morning, sunshine. Thanks for last night,” Adam says, and a slow smirk spreads over his face. 

 

“Asshole,” Ronan replies, affronted, but the insult lacks heat, and then they’re both laughing at the absurdity of it, and Adam’s trying hard not to think about the fact that it’s not entirely a joke, not quite a lie; he’s trying, between the second of them laughing and the inevitable silence and awkwardness that will follow, to figure out what to say. Mind sprinting down a reckless path, he pushes himself up, smile still clinging to the corners of his lips. There’s a pause, both of them just looking at each other, and for a second, Adam wonders what Ronan is thinking. 

 

“I-” Adam pauses. “I should probably head home.” Ronan’s not saying anything, and although Adam is familiar with this silent intensity of his — that hasn’t changed since high school — it’s a little unnerving. 

 

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, starts pulling clothes back on rapidly. The words stick to the back of his throat, to the back of his teeth, mouth cottony and unsure. 

 

“This… I wasn’t lying about what I said before.” 

 

Ronan’s face is expressionless, vastly different from the acidic smirks and rare softer smiles. Adam shouldn’t feel the need to explain himself more, but he does, somehow; something in the lack of response from Ronan making something inside him jittery, even as his fingers steadily zip his jacket up. 

 

“I work 80 hours a week; I’m logging overtime shifts; I’m on call constantly. I can’t do a relationship” Straightforward, to the point. Without a sugar coating or any lies, honesty in exchange for Ronan’s honesty. 

 

“I’m not stupid, Parrish, I heard you the first time around,” and finally, there’s annoyance lacing Ronan’s words, there’s more than calm nothingness on his face, even if it comes with the edges of his lips pulled into a scathing tilt. He shrugs, the angles of his shoulders sharp and precise. “We’ve done fine being friends till now; no need to get all stressed on me now.” 

 

It should make Adam breathe easier, and it does, but there’s the vaguest sense of disappointment somewhere in the back of his mind. 

 

“Alright. I’ll see you around,” Adam replies simply, pulling on his scarf, and leaves the room, the apartment, as quickly as he’d come, Ronan still lying in the bed behind him, silent. 

 

\---

 

Adam tries not to overthink it, but overthinking and Adam Parrish know each other intimately. It doesn’t help that when he’s not working, he’s at home or at Ley Line or occasionally at Gansey’s, and Ronan has situated himself back into this group of friends as easily as breathing, as though he’d never really been gone at all. 

 

Not that it’s surprising — there had always been something completely natural about the way they all fit around and in and with each other, limbs tangling and thoughts aligning and the thrum of six hearts beating in sync. 

 

But that’s not helping Adam. Because Adam — Adam  _ wants _ . Last night had been sudden and thrilling and somehow both unexpected and expected. He’d thought about it, before. He’d thought about kissing Ronan. He’d thought it when Ronan had shown up in their Boston apartment, looking older and leaner and more mature, his body filled out and his eyes with a newfound weight in them as they’d tracked Adam’s progress around the room. He’d thought it as they sat, pressed side to side in that bar’s booth, ankles and knees knocking. He’d thought it as he turned towards Ronan in his and Gansey’s apartment, and then without thinking, he’d asked. 

 

Had he expected Ronan to reciprocate? Looking back, Adam wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure if he was the only one who felt that leftover tension or nostalgia or whatever it was — that pull that had driven them closer in an ever diminishing spiral, some sort of ever-present gravity. 

 

But — that was it. This is what Adam tells himself as he catches his thought cycling back again to Ronan between visiting patients and shifts in the operating room, between sleep and grabbing groceries, while he stares at the bread he just picked up off the shelf. They had needed to resolve what seemed to be unresolved, and now they would go back to the friendship that had lasted so long. The exact same way Ronan had slipped back into his friendship with Gansey and Noah and Blue and Henry. 

 

It doesn’t stop Adam from wanting, but he pushes it away and tries to forget. 

 

\---

 

[ _ blue  _ to  _ the raven gang _ , 19:29] monopoly night fuckers be there or be square i’m gonna kick all your asses into the dirt 

 

[ _ blue  _ to  _ the raven gang _ , 19:29] henry if you don’t come it means you forfeit and i remain reigning champion and ronan if you don’t come then not only am i still reigning champion but you are dead last

 

[ _ henry  _ to  _ the raven gang _ , 19:29] omw!! 

 

[ _ gansey  _ to  _ the raven gang _ , 19:31] Ronan, shall I set up a spot for you? 

 

[ _ noah _ to  _ the raven gang _ , 19:32] ronan come play monopoly with us 

 

[ _ noah _ to  _ the raven gang _ , 19:34] ronan stop ignoring us 

 

[ _ noah _ to  _ the raven gang _ , 19:35] come play monopoly with us

 

[ _ ronan  _ to  _ the raven gang _ , 19:37] no

 

[ _ noah _ to  _ the raven gang _ , 19:37] understandable have a nice day 

 

\---

 

Ten minutes later, the bell above Ley Line’s door is ringing, the hanging plants swaying ever so slightly in the sudden draft, and Noah bounds up from where he’s been organizing Monopoly money. “Aha! He came.” 

 

Blue groans and hands a smirking Henry a crumpled five dollar bill, before consoling herself by stealing a slice of pizza from the open box sitting on the floor beside them. 

 

Ronan walks in just in time to see the transaction. “Already losing, maggot? Doesn’t bode well for the rest of the night.” 

 

Blue flips him off, and haughtily turns to pour herself a glass of wine. 

 

The game starts fifteen minutes later, after everyone’s had at least a piece of the pizza and everyone has definitely already had a glass of wine. The six of them are sprawled across the worn hardwood — Blue has her legs across Henry’s lap, Noah’s starfished facedown, Ronan leaning back on his elbows, the long lines of his body spread out. This is the routine: set up, pizza, wine, settle on the floor of Ley Line with pillows and blankets surrounding them, low lighting, and quite possibly the most intense game of Monopoly played with the state of Massachusetts to follow, fueled by $10 bottles of wine, complete with made-up rules and fines accumulated over years of playing. 

 

Adam glances to his side, to where Ronan is leisurely fanning himself with his wad of money, but his eyes show only regret as Blue rattles off their list of homemade extra rules. 

 

“We’ll cut you some slack at first,” Gansey says from across the circle, putting a hand on Blue’s knee at her affronted scoff. She acquiesces. 

 

The battle commences. 

 

It’s about twenty minutes and an empty bottle of wine later that Adam is distracted — that they all are — by the sound of a phone ringing. Ronan is on his feet and staring daggers at the phone in his hands within a second, and Adam catches Noah’s look of surprise from the corner of his eyes as Ronan stalks outside to answer.

 

They all stare after him for a beat, and then Gansey is getting to his feet, but Adam is sitting closer to the door. He makes a motion at Gansey and says, “I’ll go.” Gansey nods. 

 

“Noah, take over for me if you want?” Noah gives him a bright thumbs up, eyes flickering from the direction of the door back to Adam. 

 

Their voices become muffled as Adam rounds the corner, and through the half open door he can see Ronan on the phone outside, pacing on Ley Line’s tiny entryway, barely big enough to be called a porch. Ronan turns on his heel, catches sight of Adam, but he doesn’t tell him to go away as Adam makes his way onto the porch, doesn’t appear any more angry now that Adam is there, doesn’t escape into the dark and loneliness of the streets. He closes the door behind him, leans against it to wait.

 

Adam can’t hear the other end of the conversation clearly, and although he tries not to eavesdrop, words and phrases slip out into the open air. The man on the other end is ranting angrily about “not leaving when we need you home most” and about selfishness and how “no one else can be there right now.” He doesn’t know what’s going on; he doesn’t want to get involved. But the words Ronan snarls back into the phone are impossible to escape. 

 

“ _ I’m _ the only one who can be there right now?  _ I’m _ selfish? You were back for three days,  _ three fucking days _ , after— You know what Matthew told me the day after you left? He wondered why you’d even bothered to come back at all, if your work was so important that you couldn’t spend more than three days with us, and if you hadn’t been back in DC by that time I would have punched you. Don’t fucking come to me saying—” Ronan’s anger is abruptly cut off by low hissed words from the other end of the line, and then Ronan is chucking his phone at a bush and whirling around to slam his knuckles into one of the pillars around the edge of the tiny porch of Ley Line, the silence as explosive as the sharp words that came before it. 

 

“Shitfuck,” Ronan grits out, and his mouth is a savage line, not quite grin and not quite grimace. 

 

Adam comes forward to grab Ronan’s hand and inspect how bad it looks, saying simply, “you dumbass.” 

 

Ronan shrugs, starts to pull his hand away from Adam, but Adam holds tight — not so tight that Ronan couldn’t pull away, but he doesn’t try again. 

 

“Don’t move, I’ll grab something from that from inside.” 

 

“Adaaaam!” comes Noah’s chipper voice as he makes his way back into the main room of Ley Line, where his friends are still sprawled on the floor, Monopoly money surrounding them. “I’ve lost you $200,” he pouts, as Henry yells, “I told you not to trust him!” over Noah’s apology. Noah sticks his foot in Henry’s rib, nearly knocking over a glass with the motion, which devolves into a bit of a wrestling match. Gansey’s face is caught somewhere between disappointment and amusement, and Adam laughs lightly as he skirts the mayhem. 

 

Blue looks up from where she’s organizing her deeds, eyeing Adam’s track towards the counter. “Is Ronan...” 

 

“Outside. Don’t worry about us,” Adam says as he crouches to dig through the first aid kit under the counter, and Blue gives him one last appraising look before turning back to the board and clearing her throat authoritatively. 

 

“Any other wrestling matches will be fined $50,” she announces, and the cries of protest drown out Adam’s exit as they all focus back on the game. 

 

Closing the door on the noise and the clink of glasses from inside, Adam finds Ronan sitting on the steps, legs extended gracefully and leaning on his elbows. His profile is outlined in the gentle light filtering from the shop’s window and the streetlights. His breath rises visibly from his lips in the cold, and Adam is suddenly reminded of the biting chill, but he pushes it and his regret of not grabbing a jacket away in order to focus on dropping to sit beside Ronan and commandeering his hand again. 

 

“Did you get any splinters?” Adam asks, and lets out a long, suffering sigh in response to Ronan’s shrug. He dumps a bit of disinfectant on the scratched up knuckles, holding tight to Ronan’s wrist when he hisses in discomfort and makes to pull away. 

 

Ronan quiets as Adam starts to wrap a thin bandage around his hand. Adam’s mind wanders back to the phone conversation, and he doesn’t want to pry, but there’s curiosity winding its way through his thoughts. He bites the inside of his lip, then starts, “your argument, if you—” but stops just as quickly when Ronan gives a short, sharp shake of his head. Adam nods in reply, backs off. It’s not his place, but he— Adam wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Make sure Ronan knew he was here if he needed to talk? They were slowly, surely becoming friends again, but it wasn’t that easy to move past years of separation. They were clearly not the same people they were back in Henrietta, they did not fit together the same way. He just hopes Ronan knows he isn’t alone in this, whatever this is. 

 

Adam redirects his attention to Ronan’s hand, but can feel Ronan’s gaze on his face, intent. 

 

He’s almost to the end of the bandage when he pauses, looks up. Ronan’s quiet gaze is still on him, eyes unreadable in the dark, and Adam — Adam has spent so long being both selfish and not selfish, fighting, nonstop, for what he wanted, but — never in this way. Hours upon hours of sleepless nights in the library, studying, working multiple jobs, getting out of Henrietta, all of it moving forward forward forward that he never let himself have time for this side of himself. Part of him is starving now, but not in that empty, lean way he knows so well. 

 

And he suddenly feels more selfish than he ever has in his entire life, because in his mind this is not necessary, this is not needed. This is not part of his plan of moving forward. 

 

But he tucks the end of the bandage in without looking, leans forward under Ronan’s indecipherable gaze, and whispers, “Can I?”

 

Adam can feel Ronan’s breath on his lips, the short, sharp inhale at his words. He waits. 

 

And then Ronan closes the short distance, lips soft, and it’s different than before — slower, gentler, not the same hurried, heated press of lips and hands and bodies. Ronan’s hand is still cradled loosely in Adam’s, their knees knock together, the angle is a little awkward, but Adam feels like he could sit here with Ronan’s lips on his for an eternity and still not want to leave. 

 

\---

 

Adam walks into Ley Line the next day to find Ronan already there, sitting cross-legged on the countertop as Noah packages something in a giant cardboard box beside him. He closes the door behind him, slumps against it and leans his head back, eyes falling shut. 

 

When he opens them again, Ronan is looking at him, a funny expression that Adam can’t quite decipher gracing the elegant lines of his face. 

 

Adam quirks an eyebrow at him. 

 

Ronan mirrors the action. 

 

“You look dead on your feet, Parrish.” 

 

“You really know how to flatter a man,” Adam shoots back, tired but not too tired for this particular brand of Adam-and-Ronan, Ronan-and-Adam. 

 

“It’s not supposed to be an insult, for once. Why the hell aren’t you asleep right now?” 

 

“Promised Blue I’d come help with some of her medical insurance paperwork… She’s not here, is she,” he observes finally, sighing. 

 

“Went out to grab an order,” Noah interjects, fighting what appears to be a losing battle with the roll of tape. 

 

“Ah. Fuck,” is Adam’s eloquent reply, as he comes around the side of the counter and drops into a spinny chair. 

 

“Jesus, Parrish, at least drink a coffee or something if you’re planning to wait till she gets back.” 

 

Adam rolls his eyes, but with the heaviness in his eyelids it takes double the usual amount of effort, and a pitch black coffee sounds pretty amazing to his tired ears. He spins the chair around to face the backroom, wondering if it will fit through the doorway. 

 

"Aw, shit," Noah mutters, looking up from his packaging. "We ran out of coffee grinds for the machine in the back room this morning. If one of you is in the mood to get some so Blue doesn't kill me tomorrow..." he trails off, but Noah does a subtle, but effective, puppy dog face like no one else.

"Why the fuck not," Ronan says at the exact same time that Adam replies, "I'll go." They look at each other, Ronan shrugs, swings his long legs off the counter, and Adam follows him out the door with a wave in Noah's direction, who's looking rather excited by the prospect of not facing imminent death tomorrow at the hands of a decaffeinated Blue.

Adam relates. He too has seen Blue without her daily 3 cups. It was one time too many. 

 

He falls into step beside Ronan as they make their way to one of those small corner supermarkets a block down. There’s still frost clinging to the leaves fallen on the sidewalk, and Adam has the urge to step in it, just to hear that satisfying crunch beneath his feet. 

 

God, he’s tired. 

 

He steps on a couple of leaves anyways. 

 

Ronan doesn’t say anything until they’re inside, lit in fluorescent blue in the thin aisles. 

 

“What a —” he starts. Stops. Walks away down the aisle as Adam goes for the coffee Blue and Noah keep Ley Line stocked with. He grabs two, just in case, before turning to look at Ronan, a question on his face. Ronan is ten feet down the aisle, eyeing a row of hot sauce. 

 

“Does Blue like spicy food?” 

 

“Yes,” Adam replies without hesitation. “And whatever dare you’re thinking of, I advise against it. Strongly. You’ll lose.” 

 

“Why the lack of faith in me? That stings.” 

 

“I’m just trying to spare you the humiliation,” Adam deadpans in reply, but there’s a smile threatening to break through at the sight of Ronan’s scowl trained on a row of hot sauce. 

 

“She’s too short to be such a menace,” Adam hears Ronan mutter as he turns towards the front of the shop, and grins to himself. 

 

\--- 

 

“It’s like he’s been in Boston all along,” Henry remarks one afternoon as he and Adam sit in one of the break rooms, each nursing a steaming cup of coffee. 

 

“Who?” Adam asks, and feels like he deserves the look that Henry shoots him over the rim of his mug. 

 

“But I don’t really get why he’s here; he’d never given any indication of wanting to leave Henrietta,” Henry continues to muse out loud. “I know Niall’s death was hard on them all, but I feel like that would make him st-” 

 

“What?” Adam cuts in forcefully, jolting forward in his chair as his mind catches up to Henry’s words. “Niall— died?” 

 

Henry shoots him another funny look, but this one is more considering and slightly taken aback. 

 

“You didn’t hear?” 

 

“I— No. I didn’t. I don’t tend to keep up with what’s happening in Henrietta; I left for a reason.” 

 

Henry tilts his head in acknowledgement. “Yeah, I know, I just figured you would have heard. It wasn’t really any of our business so we didn’t bring it up, but we, or I, assumed you’d heard. I mean, that’s why Gansey was gone for that week and a half last month.” 

 

_ Oh _ , thought Adam. 

 

Adam settles back into his chair, a frown painting his face. “Oh,” he replies, simply, feeling rather stupid and ignorant — he hates that feeling. 

 

_ Oh _ . 

 

That was what the phone call had been about. 

 

He replays the overheard snatches of conversation, Ronan’s reply, and— yeah. It makes sense. It would have been Declan on the other end of the line, the two of them at each other’s throats as before, unstoppable force and immovable object. 

 

Henry’s watching him over the rim of his coffee cup as he drains the last of it, and Adam hates this feeling of being scrutinized because of his accidental ignorance. He hates that he was accidentally ignorant even more, and suddenly he feels insensitive. Ronan’s change of pace — he must have been referring to Niall’s death. To whatever memories were left in Henrietta that he could no longer face. 

 

That was no foreign concept to Adam. 

 

His wandering thoughts are interrupted when Henry stands and throws his paper cup into the bin. “I’ll catch you later; have to do rounds.” Adam waves absentmindedly as Henry disappears into the corridor. 

 

He pulls out his phone, stares at it for a long second, and slips it back in his pocket. He can’t… If Ronan hadn’t brought it up with him, Adam had no right to breach this topic of conversation. 

 

There’s no reason for Adam to feel as oddly guilty as he does — he didn’t do anything, didn’t set anything in motion, wasn’t even there — though, maybe that was a little bit of it. As much as Adam had demanded and made sure that he stood on his own, that he did everything, reached every goal, through his own will and hard work and sacrifice, Ronan (and Gansey and Blue and Noah, and later Henry) had been there, a step behind him: a row of silent support that Adam Parrish, headstrong and willful and unknowable, hadn’t always wanted to acknowledge. He’d learned different, in the years and miles separating him from Henrietta and its dust-covered stillness, learned to trust and confide and that sometimes one didn’t have to be strong and impenetrable and  _ alright  _ every second of every day. 

 

And then here was Ronan — without Henrietta, without Niall, without an explanation. But with agreement, enthusiasm even, in his touch and on his lips in a way that Adam hadn’t entirely expected. At times the same Ronan Lynch he remembered from their Aglionby days, and at once a completely different man, with a more carefully, more maturely restrained sharpness, with a more well-hidden grief, with brown eyes that were both warmer and more piercing, more knowing, with a wild, curving forest of a tattoo darkening the muscles of his back, with a touch that burned Adam from the inside out. What had changed? Adam wanted to know — wanted to know this new Ronan Lynch even more than he wanted to know the why and how. 

 

Adam stood, threw his cup in the trash, a mirror action to Henry’s before, and headed to his next patient, mind overflowing. 

 

\---

 

When the door opens, it’s not Gansey standing there, but Ronan, looking vaguely disoriented. He’s wearing a faded black t-shirt, paint splatters of different hues dotting its threadbare surface, and grey sweatpants slung low on his hips. There’s a pair of thick-rimmed glasses perched on his head. Adam takes this all in while Ronan continues to gaze at him through too bright eyes that seem to be focused elsewhere, and then there’s a snap and suddenly Ronan is staring right at Adam, and Adam can’t look away. 

 

“What are you doing here?” he asks Adam, but Adam simply crowds his way forward into the apartment, and Ronan lets himself be bullied backwards until the door is closing behind them. 

 

“Since when do you wear glasses?” Adam counters instead of answering, curiosity blooming in his mind. 

 

“What?” is Ronan’s derisive reply, until he puts a hand to his head and feels the glasses sitting there. “Oh, these shitty things, they’re just for when I need to focus on really small details,” he explains, brushing it off with a shrug, but Adam is not so easily put off. He reaches up and pushes the glasses down onto Ronan’s nose, and just examines him for a moment, eyes wandering his face. 

 

“Do I look too academic for you, Parrish? Is it throwing you off, don’t know how to handle this scholarly of a look from a delinquent like me?” Ronan taunts, but before he can get any further, Adam has a hand around his jaw and is stepping forward, stopping centimeters from his face in a silent question, eyes flickering away from Ronan’s lips to his eyes to wait for his answer. Ronan nods, barely, but enough, and Adam finishes pulling him into a kiss, open-mouthed and hungry. 

 

And — Oh. They were doing this again. But Ronan had nodded, had said yes, and somewhere in those few seconds between the door opening and now, Adam stops thinking and starts wanting. 

 

He doesn’t stop. 

 

A corner of his mind pokes at him, tries to remind him that this was not why he came by, but Adam pushes it away for later, he’s busy right now, occupied with the angle Ronan is deepening the kiss at, focused more on finding a place to set Ronan’s glasses without having to stop kissing him than on anything else, besides maybe also getting Ronan out of his shirt. Yeah. That’s a good direction. Especially since Ronan’s already somehow managed to get Adam’s shirt off of him and push him to sit on Gansey’s rickety couch. 

 

Adam’s got a hand splayed on Ronan’s taut stomach, tracing an upwards path, when Ronan’s fingers close around his wrists. He pauses immediately, leaning backwards in question, and flushes when he catches sight of Ronan’s blown pupils and red lips, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. 

 

“We’re—” Ronan starts, voice rusty, and then clears his throat. “We’re too close to my work; it’s stressing me out,” he finally manages clearly, and gets off of Adam’s lap, leaving him with a slightly uncomfortable problem. Adam ignores it and glances around, curious. 

 

“Your— work?”

 

“Yeah. More time for, uh, this, without all the farmwork and shit,” Ronan replies, mood switching so quickly from  _ please debauche me _ to kind of shy that it gives Adam whiplash, until his gaze finally alights on the collection of paints and the canvas stretched on the floor beside the couch and he all but forgets that he was dying to go back to making out not two seconds ago. 

 

It’s about half his size, lying on the hardwood amid the eclecticism of Gansey’s decor as though it had always been there. The arching shades of green blend into the riot of plants crowded around the apartment. Shards of afternoon light glint across the colors — but no, that’s not quite right, even those are built of bold brush strokes. Adam stands, takes a step closer in curiosity, and from the blues and greens and purples of the foliage in the painting, a face materializes, youthful and gentle and full of light, a woman that looks too familiar for comfort but that Adam still cannot place. 

 

He looks back to Ronan, whose face goes from nervous to shuttered and emotionless within a second when he catches Adam looking back at him. 

 

“That’s… Ronan. That’s incredible. I hadn’t realized—” 

 

Ronan shrugs, but there’s a pleased look underneath the usual expression of disinterest he wears like a mask. “I don’t really advertise it. More of my own thing.” 

 

“You could, you know. Advertise it. If you wanted to. Any gallery would be lucky to have something this good.” And it’s not a lie. Adam doesn’t know much about art, but he’s been dragged to enough museums, usually of the small, hipstery type, by Blue to appreciate good art when he sees it. This painting — though clearly not finished — fits that category. 

 

There’s a particular feeling of Ronan to it, too, in the sharp lines and swirling colors, the barely there winking lights and half-lit shadows, the disquiet and exaltation and strangeness that run through the unprepared. A feeling of magic in the woman’s somnolent gaze that Adam has felt before, in Ronan Lynch’s half-hooded eyes. 

 

A sudden chill on his shoulder breaks Adam out of his reverie, and he jolts slightly, only to find that Ronan has a paintbrush pressed to the ridge of his shoulder blade, tracing a green line across it and a little down his arm. Adam opens his mouth, manages a “What—” before Ronan interrupts him. 

 

“Shut the fuck up, Parrish. I won’t poison you, promise.” And as sharp as the words are, there’s something relaxed and good-natured in the tone, so Adam doesn’t question him anymore. 

 

A thought comes to Adam as he watches the lines appear across his shoulder. 

 

“Your tattoo— when you said you designed it, you meant entirely. Just you.”

 

“Yeah, of course, fuck did you think I meant?” Ronan pauses to ask, an eyebrow slanted upwards. 

 

“Thought you worked with a tattoo artist.” 

 

“Well, I definitely didn’t tattoo it on myself.” 

 

“No shit,” Adam replies dryly, as Ronan steps back to admire his work. The whole thing had taken no more than two minutes, but from what little Adam can see by twisting his shoulder, it’s a simple twisting design of vines, somewhat like a more organic Celtic knot. 

 

“That’ll be $30.” Ronan’s shit-eating grin is in place. 

 

With mock affront, Adam replies, “It’s not even permanent; this is a rip off.” 

 

Ronan just throws his paintbrush at Adam’s face, which he barely catches before getting a stripe of green down his cheek. 

 

“Bad service to boost,” Adam remarks snidely, extending the brush in an attempt to get paint on Ronan’s face in revenge. Ronan stops him easily, fingers loose around the bones of Adam’s wrist. Neither of them move. 

 

“Get the fuck out then.” Ronan’s potentially harsh words are offset by the pressure of his fingers on Adam’s arm, the way he draws him ever so closer, unconsciously, eyes flickering to Adam’s lips. 

 

And though Adam knows he started this — he’s still somewhat surprised when Ronan closes the distance and meets his lips in a searing kiss. The first time, or, well, the first two times, had been without thinking, natural, urged on by something Adam didn’t care to understand at that moment. Maybe it had been seeing Blue, Gansey, and Henry’s not-quite-relationship with fresh eyes after Ronan’s query, Adam realizing that although he was happy here, in Boston, among his lifelong friends, he was also maybe lonely. Maybe it was the angles of Ronan’s face and body, the memories of a confused college-aged Adam figuring himself out and looking back at the mess of his high school emotions towards Ronan Lynch with new eyes, the reminder that there had already been a hint of potential simmering just below the surface. Maybe — it was a heady feeling of control, of choice, over the things that Henrietta hadn’t allowed him to have. 

 

Maybe it’s as simple as Ronan’s lips on his once again, Ronan’s hands on his shoulders, Adam’s fingers on the graceful lines of Ronan’s throat, the sharp intake of breath when Adam puts his lips to Ronan’s collarbone. 

 

It’s a while longer before he leaves. 

 

\--- 

 

Later that night, Adam stands in front of his bathroom mirror, body twisted uncomfortably, and traces the swirls and lines of Ronan’s work across his shoulders. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got damn what are they doing. what am i doing 
> 
> also i definitely did not make [a playlist for this](https://open.spotify.com/user/ceiestixl/playlist/5AJEgrNHILYkpwYDx5yxNT) but if i had it’d be a shame if i were the only one to listen to it wouldn’t it huh 
> 
> i hope this didn't disappoint. ur comments make my day tbvh please lmk what u think!!

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on twitter @jesperfxhey and on tumblr @reneewvlker <3


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